Never Speak To Strangers
by Celeborn's Concubine
Summary: Drizzt is rescued from an awful lot of orcs by a mysterious stranger, but is it a case of 'out of the frying pan, into the fire? Rated M for attempted rape in a later chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**I have been doing a course on Gothic literature: Waldpole, Lewis, Stevenson, Stoker, etc, and wanted to compose a piece using many of the common themes found in this genre. Now, normally, a story of this nature would contain a 'damsel in distress', but as this kinda already happened to Cattie-brie, what with being dragged from Icewind Dale to somewhere near Mithril Hall by Artemis Enteri, I figured I'd give the poor girl a break and plonk Drizzt down in this role instead. That, and it's just more fun this way. Now I know 'damsel in distress' isn't normally associated with 'macho super warriorness', but hey, I'll try my best ;) To aid in this endeavour I have based my characterisation more on the younger Drizzt from 'The Dark Elf Trilogy', who is far less worldly. **

**Also, I don't subscribe to the belief that there is sufficient evidence in canon for Drizzt remaining a virgin up until he gets with Cattie-brie at the end of 'The Two Swords', for reasons I have gone into elsewhere, so can't be bothered to do so again, but _if_ we want to characterise him as a sweet lil innocent I think this would be a plausible way of explaining that.**

**WARNING: Violence, M/M relations and attempted rape in a later chapter. If any of those three things don't tickle your fancy, then please leave quietly through the exit located in your 'back button' before the story begins. Thank you.**

**Disclaimer: All characters and/or places copyrighted to Mr. Salvatore belong to him and not to me. Quite obviously. But I will accept responsibility for any OCs, just give me a yell if they're bothering you, and I'll come collect them.**

Grey-black clouds swirled and scudded in a troubled sky; a chill, mournful wind rushing swiftly across the mountain landscape, rippling the dry and brittle knee-high grasses and rustling the leaves of the trees, sending no small few flying free, to swirl and caper maniacally across the mountainside. Drizzt Do'Urden hunched further down into the warmth of his fur-lined cloak as the first fat raindrops began to fall, one striking him sharply on his ebony cheek. Pulling his hood a little lower over his face the drow ranger moved on swiftly, bright, lavender-hued eyes seeking someplace he could find shelter from the imminent storm.

The goodly drow was returning to Mithril Hall from a fortnight spent in Silverymoon, with perhaps two days journeying still before him. Three, if he could go no further this day. With some relief he spotted a deepish- rocky overhang a little way up the path. More raindrops splashed down all about him, and a distant flash of thunder momentarily blinded Drizzt's Underdark-bred eyes as he trotted up the path, already becoming slick and dangerous, even for an agile drow, as the increasing rain turned the rich dust to mud.

The overhang hardly provided the perfect shelter, but at least it would keep the majority of the rain off. A small and not-quite-comfortable boulder provided a seat and the means to keep his feet out of the growing torrents of water streaming down the hillside as the sulking clouds let loose a storm the likes of which Drizzt had never seen before.

Rain was falling so hard and fast that it appeared almost as an opaque curtain; thunder boomed and lightning flared in the skies above, and seemingly all about the shivering drow. No matter how much he pressed himself into the shelter of the rocky overhang the driving curtains of rain still seemed to be finding ways to make him wet, and with the harsh mountain wind whipping past the dark elf was soon chilled to the bone, and utterly miserable.

The blowing clouds of water and dazzling bursts of lightning blinded sharp drow eyes; the roaring blasts of thunder, coming every few moments, deafened sharp drow ears; the over-powering scents of rain and wet earth overwhelmed a sharp drow nose. It didn't help that the downpour served as the first bath many of the orcs had had in quite some time, thereby lessening their usually overwhelming odour, for they were very nearly upon the soaking Drizzt before he became aware of them, creeping up on him from all directions.

Twin scimitars snapped out of their sheathes, and the drow ranger exploded into motion, coming out from under the overhang in a rush which buried the nearest orc- a large, spear-wielding brute- in a matter of seconds. Two more fell swiftly afterwards, and a fourth turned tail and fled back down the mountainside, slipping and sliding and more often tumbling head-over-heels than running when Drizzt's blades sheared cleanly through the haft of its crude axe. But Drizzt was a single elf, and there were at least a dozen foes closing with him, with more still materialising out of the fog-like curtains of rain.

Drizzt spun and parried the heavy downwards chop of an orc-blade, snow-white hair and storm-grey cloak flying wide behind him. His other blade flashed in, as swift as a darting fish in the shallows, to poke a wicked hole in the orc's shoulder, but when the drow made to disengage with his foe and deftly avoid the clumsy spear-thrust of another orc behind him his foot skidded in the mud, and he went down on one knee. Worse still, he didn't entirely evade the deadly spear, his voice hauntingly beautiful even as he cried out in pain as the sharp blade sliced his hip. He felt the warmth of his own blood start to trickle over his chilled flesh even as he awkwardly parried the blows raining down on him from the orcs standing uphill.

With no opportunity to regain his feet the drow was unable to prevent half-a-dozen other small wounds, none of which would prove overly dangerous individually, but collectively were already making him feel weak and woozy. The mud about him was showing definite puddles of red, washing down the hill in little rivulets.

Drizzt managed a great slash which opened the belly of one orc from hip-to-hip, and as the wretched creature fell back, trying desperately to hold in the guts already tumbling forth- the smell was appalling- the drow beheld a most glorious sight : a fellow elven warrior hastening to his rescue.

The elven warriror- no midnight skinned drow such as Drizzt, but a blond-haired, blue-eyed surface elf- crashed into the orcs uphill of the imperilled ranger, his razor-sharp rapier leading the way. Within moments he had cut a wide swathe of orc-free space through to stand at Drizzt's side, holding back the hail of blows while the dark elf struggled to his feet. Together they were a machine of un-parallelled slaughter; orcan fingers, limbs, heads and assorted pieces of weaponry went splashing into the mud all around the pair.

It didn't take the orcs long to decide discretion was the better part of valour, and the handful of survivors- some really very badly mangled- scattered like the leaves caught in the fearsome wind. A few lay writhing pitifully on the ground, clutching at horrific mortal wounds, but the golden-haired elven warrior ignored them, sheathing his weapon and wrapping a strong arm about Drizzt's waist.

Were it not for his surface cousin Drizzt likely would have swooned and fallen, the pain of his wounds, largely unnoticed in the adrenalin rush of battle, now hit him full-force. As well as the cut on his hip was a nasty gash on his right arm, another on his thigh, a blow (which would cause a near-egg-sized lump which would last for days) on the back of his head, where he'd actually been brained by the shaft of a spear whose blade he had successfully ducked, crushed and likely broken fingers, and to top it all off he had injured his ankle somehow when he had slipped in the mud.

He wasn't fully aware of where the elf was taking him, all Drizzt knew was that it hurt to walk, he was frightfully cold, and the body beside him was warm and offered his only chance at comfort.

After half an hour or so of agonisingly slowly scrambling up the mountainside, Drizzt was half-led, half-dragged into a cave mouth by his still anonymous rescuer. The cave was angled down the slope, so that, although they had to pass beneath a veritable waterfall cascading over the top of the entranceway, no water had come inside. The ground inside was perfectly dry.

Drizzt didn't ever remember being manouvered onto a soft pile of sleeping-furs at one side of the cave, or covered over with a blanket. He had perhaps the faintest recollection of the elf kindling a fire near the mouth of the cave- apparently there was a store of dry firewood- and the orange flickering which began to dance with the shadows on the walls as the elf carefully built up the flame. Long before the nameless elf had heated water, in which he steeped fragrant and soothing healing herbs, and returned to bathe and dress Drizzt's wounds, the goodly ranger and sunk into a dreamless sleep brought on by sheer exhaustion and blood loss.

oOo

It was the smell of cooking food which eventually roused Drizzt from his slumbers. Cracking open bleary eyes the drow beheld his surface cousin sitting, back to him, near the mouth of the cave, clearly occupied with his fire. Whatever he was doing, it smelt good…and turned out to be bread of a sort, baked in the hot embers of the fire. (Covered, of course. No one likes ash in their bread)

The elf's expression and manners were gentle as he propped the wounded drow against his chest and attentively fed him soft mouthfuls of bread, followed by a small amount of warm, weak tea. Drizzt murmured a thank you as the elf lay him back down, tenderly, almost lovingly, smoothing mussed tendrils of his snowy hair from his ebony forehead. Lips pressed chastely to that sable-hued temple and Drizzt fell swiftly back into reverie, cuddled warmly against the chest of the blond-haired elf, amidst a nest of soft, luxurious furs and blankets.

It was in those arms that he awoke once more some hours later, feeling infinitely better. Eyes of a sparkling, pale blue hue gazed down at him, and the elf's handsome mouth curved in a gentle smile when he noticed Drizzt stirring.

"How do you feel, cousin?" the elf asked, smiling widely at the drow's yawn. "I beg you will forgive me for not being at your side sooner…I was not eager to aid a drow, until I saw the colour of your eyes, and realised who you were." Drizzt blushed furiously (though his dark skin mostly hid the fact) as the elf continued, an almost awe-struck expression on his face. "The tales of Drizzt Do'Urden's prowess with the blade do not do you justice, my friend. If you had been a lesser fighter I'm sure I should not have been in time to aid you."

"I owe you my life," the goodly ranger replied, a little faintly. Though his pain was greatly decreased he still felt as weak as a kitten, and suspected he would be bed-bound for a number of days. The elf soon confirmed it, tutting and fussing as he gently and tenderly changed the various neatly-applied dressings.

The elf introduced himself as Elhand Joysword (**this name came up ****in the D&D ****Name Generator as I was going through random elf names /snigger/) **a happy-go-lucky traveller and adventurer, who had recently wandered into the region. He claimed to have first heard of Drizzt in Waterdeep, and to have recognised him from the descriptions given in the tales he had heard there. That night and the day following he carefully nursed the bedridden Drizzt, cuddling and crooning over the injured drow, who found he quite enjoyed all the attention.

The next evening Drizzt felt well enough to crawl from his comfortable tangle of furs and blankets and aid Elhand in preparing their supper. All this while the rain had not abated, and the two sat watching the storm continue to unleash its fury on the mountains from the shelter of the cave-mouth as they dined on more fresh-baked bread and fried mushrooms.

Drizzt, sleepy and just a little groggy from his exertions, would have liked to do nothing more than lie back and listen to an anecdote of Elhand's adventures- the elf had a charming, witty sense of humour, and pleasing manner, and the drow was sure he'd have made a wonderful storyteller- but somehow he found himself persuaded to recount his own life story, beginning with his earliest days in Menzoberranzan. The dark elven ranger was weary, and the story barely begun- he had briefly sketched in the details of his childhood and days at the academy, ever somewhat uncomfortable about discussing his origins- when it became clear that he had had enough for one night, and Elhand helped him back into bed.

The surface elf banked the fire then slid into bed behind Drizzt, spooning up behind him. Initially Drizzt was uneasy about this arrangement, but it was undeniably comfortable to have that big (Elhand was an inch or two above Drizzt's five and a half feet), warm body sort of sprawled over him, one arm protectively encircling his waist. It had been years since the drow had felt that there was someone watching over _him_, protecting _him_, as he was normally the guardian, the stoic ranger to whom all his friends could look up to.

It was nice to feel Elhand lay his milk-white cheek against Drizzt's midnight-dark one, and to just lay quietly in the warmth and safety offered with his embrace. A small, contented smile touched the drow ranger's lips as his eyelids fluttered closed and he drifted off into peaceful reverie.

oOo

"It was only then Zaknafein admitted something I'd begun to suspect some time before- that he, and not Rizzen, was my father-" Drizzt had to pause in his story as, sitting across the fire, Elhand had choked on his tea. "Really?" the blond elf spluttered. "Zaknafein was your sire?"

Drizzt regarded his saviour curiously. At that look, the elf offered an explanation of having read something about Zaknafein somewhere, but of not having made the connection between he and Drizzt. The drow thought it odd that anything should have been written about Zaknafein- drow, as a general rule, were not much inclined towards histories and recording, and it seemed highly unlikely that anything should have been written by a surface scholar about the former House Do'Urden Weapons Master, but if Elhand said he had read something, than Drizzt was sure he must have.

Sitting snugly warm with a thick, soft fur wrapped about his shoulders, his bare toes practically in the fire, and a mug of steaming tea cradled in both hands, Drizzt was quite content, even close to feeling well, and as he continued with his story he forgot all about Elhand's strange interruption.

oOo

By the next morning the pouring rain eased off to a mere drizzle. Drizzt was hopeful he could set out tomorrow for Mithril Hall, though his elven companion was sceptical. "That ankle was badly twisted, mayhap even sprained," the blond elf warned. "I don't think you should be walking anywhere much on it just yet."

Drizzt tried not to pout. He was deeply enjoying Elhand's company- in many ways the older elf reminded him of his father, Zaknafein. They had a similar cheeky sense of humour, were both deadly warriors, and Drizzt had only experienced that wonderful safe feeling, the sense of being watched over, in their company. A part of him knew that he was overlaying his desire to have Zaknafein back on his newly-formed relationship with Elhand, but he could not help but compare the blond elven warrior to his father.

The fact that he was enjoying Elhand's company and attentions didn't mean he wasn't anxious to be seeing his other friend's though. They would have expected him back at Mithril Hall by now, and must be starting to worry. Bruenor would pace and grumble, and become cranky; Regis would watch him, and try to keep him calm, all the while hiding his own worried frowns; Wulfgar would likewise bang about, anxious to be off, yet would remind the others to trust in Drizzt and his abilities, and Cattie-brie…come to think of it, Drizzt wasn't sure what Cattie-brie would do. She was the calm one of the party, the level-headed voice of reason, and the drow found it hard to remember a time when he had seen her pacing, or chewing her nails, or anything like that.

At first a hot feeling of disappointment swept over the drow ranger. There was a part of him- a quite substantial part- which wanted to think Cattie-brie _would_ be worried for him, and the thought that maybe she wouldn't be brought a lump to his throat (to match the one on the back of his head). But then he soothed, remembering the young woman whom he loved, even if he had never yet told her so. Cattie-brie would fret over his absence, she would just take greater pains to keep that fretfulness to herself, her kindly nature not permitting her to wish to cause anyone else alarm. Rather than wearing holes in the carpet with anxious pacing she would likely sit outside in Keepers Dale (providing it wasn't too wet) and stare at the path leading down from the cliffs, waiting and silently willing for Drizzt to come bounding down those steps.

Inspiration struck. Reaching into a pocket the goodly drow pulled forth the figurine of his first and most loyal friend, Gwenhwyvar, the magical panther who had aided him through so many perils in the past. Elhand watched curiously as Drizzt placed the figurine on the ground, then began rummaging through his bags, finally emerging with paper and charcoal clenched triumphantly in his fist.

"What are you doing?" the blond elf asked him, as Drizzt sat scribbling off a hasty letter to his friends. "Writing to my companions, so that they might know where I am and not worry," the drow replied, not looking up. Once the letter was finished he carefully rolled it up and tied it with one of the lacings from his jerkin, then he called to his panther friend.

Mist swirled 'round the figurine, roiling and increasing and finally solidifying into the form of Gwenhwyvar. The great cat shook herself absently, pacing over to butt her head gently against Drizzt's side. Then she turned her large, glowing green eyes to Elhand.

Gwen's reaction to the elf took Drizzt totally by surprise. Her ears went flat back against her skull, gleaming fangs bared, and she crouched, tamping down her back legs ready for a spring. Her tail lashed, snake-like, against her flanks.

The elf blanched, his already pale skin going ghost-white, as he scooted backwards away from the great cat, on all fours, his rump skidding in the dust. Drizzt surged forward and caught an arm about Gwen's neck, holding her back. "Stop it, Gwen!" he scolded, forcing the cat to look at him. "Elhand is a friend, you silly girl. Let him alone. I have a task for you."

Reluctantly the cat turned from the cowering elf, and allowed Drizzt to give her the letter, and instructions to take it to Mithril Hall. "Go home and rest once you've delivered the message, my shadow," he told her, affectionately ruffling her ears. Gwen seemed reluctant to leave the cave, her green eyes fixed imploringly on Drizzt, but her master's gentle command was hard to obey, and so, finally, she left. The two elves watched the great cat spring away through the mud and drizzling rain, loping gracefully up the steep slope, before finally disappearing from view.


	2. Chapter 2

**Many thanks to Zolarix Aster and PhantomBoo for the reviews :D Reviews make me very happy, lol**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit, etc. **

Elhand was in a foul mood all that night, most likely from the fright Guen had given him. Drizzt tried hard to make amends for his friend's misbehaviour, even preparing a lavish supper (for something prepared in a cave over a campfire) all on his own. After they'd eaten the pair of elves sat close against one another, wrapped in the same soft fur (for it had become very cold that night), sharing a cup of warmed, spiced wine.

The goodly drow was sleepy and content, cuddled warmly against the surface elf's chest, his head resting on the blond's shoulder. Elhand was stroking his hair, evidently greatly cheered up. Drizzt was very nearly asleep when he felt the other's lips brush softly against his own.

There was no denying, as Elhand kissed him again, more passionately, that it felt very, very good. The cave, lit with orange and buttery golden firelight, provided an intimate setting; the warmth and heavy softness of the fur about his shoulders, coupled with the heat radiating from the other elf's firm body behind him, was exquisitely comfortable; and for many long moments the young drow lay meek and pliant in the other's arms, savouring the deepening kiss and tender caresses being bestowed upon him.

When Elhand slid a hand down to stroke firmly over the ranger's loins, though, Drizzt tensed. Kissing and petting was one thing, but this… a hot feeling of shame washed over him. He had claimed, at least to himself, to love Cattie-brie, and yet here he was in such a compromising position with someone else…

Not that the other elf's attentions didn't feel magnificent- and there was a part of Drizzt that very much wanted to just lie back and let go of all his worries, losing himself in pleasure. But if the drow ranger was anything it was loyal and steadfast, and besides, he really saw Elhand in a more familial light than as a potential lover anyway.

The drow carefully disentangled himself from the blond's arms and slipped free of his embrace. "I'm sorry, Elhand," he told the other elf, who was staring at him incredulously. "I would be honoured to be considered your friend, but I can't do this…my heart belongs to another."

The surface elf's expression softened. "I understand," he told Drizzt with a smile. "But at the same time…" his expression was sly as he looked the ruffled drow up and down in a predatory fashion. "We need not tell him, you know."

"Her," the drow responded automatically, carefully edging 'round so that the fire was now between them. He supposed, in retrospect, he should have seen this coming- he had been quite intimate with Elhand right from the beginning, though it had never occurred to him that what he perceived as being more a protective, caring relationship- not unlike the one he had with Bruenor, when he thought about it- could be being read as something else by the other party.

It was just that he had so enjoyed the feeling of being protected and cared for. A sinking feeling of disappointment settled in his belly at the thought that, even should he and the older elf put this awkward moment behind them and continue with their friendship, the cuddling and the like would surely have to end. He remembered sleeping in the blond's arms after he had first been injured, and how wonderfully safe he had felt.

The surface elf was regarding him with a thoughtful, slightly amused look, which made Drizzt feel somewhat wary. It was quite clear from his expression that the blond hadn't abandoned his amorous intentions, and the drow instinctively pulled his arms and legs in tight to his body, feeling a little exposed despite the fact that he was actually fully clothed.

oOo

Guenhwyvar loped uneasily along the mountain path, glancing back over her shoulder every few strides. Her master had given her express orders which compelled her to obey, yet the panther from the astral plane knew instinctively that her beloved Drizzt was in dreadful danger, and every step took her further from his side.

The great panther's steps gradually slowed, then stopped all together. She sat on the path, growling deep in her throat, and scuffing the muddy ground with her paws. She felt as if she were being torn down the middle- the compulsion to obey her master's order was strong, but so was the increasing feeling of impending danger. Drizzt needed her!

Finally, her mind made up, she stood and started back down the path, running back to Drizzt's side as fast as her well-honed muscles could carry her.

oOo

Elhand patted the ground beside him. "Come back here, sweet one," he positively purred at Drizzt. "I shan't bite you. Well, not very hard anyway."

The goodly drow found his temper beginning to rise. He liked Elhand- owed him his life, in fact- but he had said no!

The blond sighed theatrically when he saw the younger elf's expression harden. Springing nimbly to his feet, the elf sauntered almost casually to the jumble of bags near their bed of furs, and began rummaging about inside. "One last time, Drizzt, I'm going to ask you to come to me. I'll have you tonight one way or another."

The drow shook his head incredulously. "Look, Elhand, don't get me wrong. I am forever indebted to you for how you saved and took care of me- but I shan't be repaying that debt with my body. And I'm very flattered that you find me attractive, but-"

Drizzt didn't have a chance to finish his sentence. The surface elf turned, something cradled in his hand. The young drow had just enough time to recognise it as a small hand crossbow- the sort regularly used by his own people- before Elhand fired. Drizzt's eyes widened, and then the little dart hit him.

Drow darts were typically coated with a strong dose of sleeping potion- and Drizzt definitely didn't want to be lying helplessly asleep with this lustful maniac loose in the cave with him! But it soon became obvious that this particular dart was different- the goodly drow threw up his hand to try and deflect the incoming dart, and caught it full in his palm. Instantly he felt the dreadful burn in his flesh, and a…a sort of lethargy…began to spread throughout his limbs.

Drizzt fought to rise on shaking legs, those deeply-ingrained survival instincts that had allowed the drow to survive for so many years alone in the Underdark, which Drizzt often referred to as 'the Hunter', refusing to let him just lie there and let Elhand do- whatever it was he was going to do.

As the young drow wobbled to his feet and made an unsteady break for the cave's entrance, he felt a second dart bite deep into the small of his back. He managed a further three steps before his muscles simply seemed to lose the will to work, and he fell all in a tumble at the very entrance to the cave.

The goodly drow felt the first slimy tendrils of panic reaching out to seize him. He couldn't seem to do much more than blink and twitch spasmodically. It was like his body had been de-boned. He had seen similar poisons used on others before- an image of an orcan slave, drowning in an Underdark lake because it couldn't move its limbs to keep itself afloat hovered resolutely in his mind. And, he recalled, with an icy thrill of terror coursing down his spine, that such poisons were often used when torturing prisoners, as, though they couldn't move at all, they could still feel every single thing being done to them.

Cold sweat and goose-bumps broke out all over the poor young dark elf's body. He even managed to shiver a little (such was the dread that gripped him) as he heard the older elf approach. "Two darts," Elhand muttered to himself in disbelief, plucking the tiny missile protruding from Drizzt's back free. He unceremoniously rolled the drow over, retrieving the dart from his hand as well.

"That is downright amazing," he told Drizzt, wagging the wicked-looking darts in the immobilised ranger's face. "Just one should have been _more_ than enough. I'd heard you were a bit of a berserker, but that's truly impressive."

Drizzt tried desperately to speak, and even managed, with all the considerable will power he could muster, to make a few badly slurred, totally incomprehensible noises. Elhand smirked. "Let me see," he murmured huskily, straddling the downed drow's hips and bending down for a tender, almost loving, kiss. "I imagine you were trying to say something like 'why are you doing this to me?' Well, my gorgeous one, the answer is: because I want to."

The blond elf took Drizzt's head in his hands, turning the drow's face to the side to nip and suckle on the delicate point of one ebony ear. He then proceeded to lick, suck and bite on the drow's elegant neck for several minutes, during which Drizzt felt tears, of both fear and frustration, welling up. One even escaped to trickle down his turned cheek.

Elhand promptly turned his hapless victim's face the other way, and ran his tongue lewdly along that trail of moisture. "Delicious," the elf purred, nuzzling the pinned ranger. "Oh, but I've waited so many years for this!"

Drizzt had no idea what the blond was talking about- they had only met just a few days beforehand. Something of his incredulity must have showed in his gaze, for Elhand, looking deep into his eyes, and smiling that same smile which just an hour or so before had seemed so warm, comforting and friendly, began to speak once more.

"You don't remember me, do you, my sweet little drowling?" he asked, stroking Drizzt's cheek quite affectionately. "I suppose I shouldn't be disappointed- Zaknafein ran me out of House Do'Urden when you were quite young." Those lovely lips quirked, revealing a near-perfect set of gleaming white teeth. He was, Drizzt could see from this close angle, missing at least two. "Ah! But I know how to refresh your memory…"

The elf, who had been lying stretched out on top of Drizzt, sat up, though he still had the goodly ranger (who wouldn't have been able to move anyway) held tight between his well-muscled thighs. He held up one of those lovely hands, wiggling his fingers so that the ring on his middle finger flashed and glittered. Drizzt had observed the ring previously; it was of a dark, heavy gold, twisted strongly 'round some sort of polished dark reddish-purple stone. Then the ring began to change colour.

Darkness, like a swirling, inky cloud, began to grow in the gem's heart. Slowly the stone changed from a reddish tint to a dark, dark blue-purple, and as the stone changed, so too did the hand on which the ring sat.

Drizzt watched in mounting horror (and he had been pretty horrified to start with) as milk-white skin turned as sable-dark as his own; honey golden hair paled 'til it was stark white; and those lovely sapphire-blue eyes became a burning, demonic red. It was no surface elf sitting atop the helpless Drizzt. It was a drow.

The goodly drow whined- the most articulate sound he could manage- and felt a few more tears slip free. He still didn't recognise this particular drow, but he knew enough about his own kind to know he would have been much safer in the hands of a rabidly insane surface elf.

"There now," the older drow crooned. His voice was still the same, a fact which was inexplicably chilling. "Still don't remember me? Ah well. Let me introduce myself then. I am M'tarl De'ervs, former soldier of House Do'urden." He gave a mocking little bow, before spreading himself out atop Drizzt once more. Teasingly, he began slowly undoing the laces on the younger drow's shirt.

"I had wanted to seduce you- to have you come to me. That would have been the sweetest victory. The thought that you had willingly sought my bed would have irked Zaknafein the most- if he were alive, of course. But you're a prudish one, for a Do'Urden, you know that don't you? A family with the reputation of being the biggest sluts in Menzoberranzan, and you? Bah!" The older drow became distracted from his story when he undid the last of the laces on Drizzt's shirt, pushing aside the soft material to reveal a well-muscled yet lithe torso.

He spent a few minutes gently tormenting his victim with lips, teeth and tongue. More tears escaped the younger drow, though he tried fiercely to hold them back. He didn't want to give his captor the satisfaction of seeing him weep.

"Oh, my darling, don't cry," Elhand- no, M'tarl- soothed. Though his voice was gentle, when Drizzt opened his eyes, it was to see that feral smile and eyes as cold as ice. "Why, I've hardly even begun."

It so happened that the younger elf had been wearing his shirt untucked. His tormentor started working on his belt buckle- fortunately for Drizzt this earned him a short reprieve, as the leather was stiff and unyielding.

The older elf- M'tarl- idly continued with his story as he fought with the belt buckle.

"I watched you since you first started darting about the place as a page prince. I'd have had you too, if it weren't for Zaknafein. One comment about how cute your backside was, and he beat me within an inch of my life. I figured it must have been because he wanted to keep you for himself, and I wasn't going to challenge the likes of Zaknafein…so, I slipped away quietly, with half a dozen broken bones, mind you, and found employment elsewhere.

I scoped out House Do'Urden after Zaknafein died, but you weren't there, were you?

It wasn't until years later, with all that ruckus about invading that dwarven dump you now call home, that I found out where you were…hah!"

Drizzt groaned despairingly (and even that came out dreadfully slurred) as his belt came undone, and was callously tossed aside. M'tarl chuckled wickedly, leaning forward to kiss his captive soundly.

"And that rump of yours is looking finer than ever, I might add."

A rough slap and a squeeze were delivered to the anatomy in question.

"I was very interested to learn that Zaknafein was your sire," the evil drow continued conversationally as he began unlacing Drizzt's leggings. The younger elf was trembling now, tears running freely down his cheeks. No matter how hard he tried he simply couldn't fight off the effects of the poison- a double dose was simply far too strong, even for 'the Hunter'. Scrunching his eyes shut tight, he tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

He vowed silently to himself that he would have vengeance on El- M'tarl, if the other didn't kill him before the effects of the poison wore off. It didn't really bring him any comfort though.

"I suppose I should have guessed that for myself. If I'd known you were his offspring I'd have kept my thoughts to myself until after I'd savoured your lovely body."

Drizzt sobbed despairingly as he felt the other drow begin peeling down his leggings. He found himself abruptly rolled over onto his belly. His hair was across his face, and in his mouth. Time seemed to freeze, and his thoughts were coming in scattered fragments. He had utterly succumbed to panic, but there really wasn't much else for him to do, given that he couldn't move at all.

A hand stroked sensually down his back, settling on his hip. If his muscles had been responding Drizzt would have tensed, waiting for the blow to fall, as it were, but instead had to settle for sucking in a great gulp of air-

-and an ear-drum shattering roar reverberated through the cave as Guenhwyvar came charging in, a flying shadow with gleaming fangs bared and wicked claws extended. Her green eyes flashed as she threw herself onto her master's attacker.

Drizzt felt the breeze of Guen's passing, and the brush of her fur on his back, as she bowled his would-be violator away. A muffled cry of pain was nearly smothered under Guen's fierce growls, and Drizzt could hear thrashing. He couldn't lift his head to see the fight that raged behind him, but the outcome was never really in question. Soon, all sounds of struggle ceased, and then he heard the heavy thump of his beloved panther friend's paws on the soft earth floor. Her warm breath tickled the goodly drow's ear as she nuzzled him, pawing softly at him, as if imploring him to roll over.

The dark elven ranger found he was crying harder than ever. Face pressed into the dirt, inhaling dust with every breath, Drizzt wasn't sure if he'd ever been more frightened then he had been that night. Guen purred softly, curling herself around him and lovingly starting to wash his hair, and what she could reach of his face with her warm, rough tongue.

Slowly, warmly and safely nestled against Guen's fur, Drizzt soothed. Not only that, but after several hours he found some ability to move returning. He was able to lift his tear-streaked face out of the dirt, at least, and to roll over somewhat, so he could curl up on his side against Guenhwyvar. Completely and utterly emotionally exhausted he fell into an uneasy sleep.

**I think I may have spelt Guenhwyvar wrong in the previous chapter- and possibly in a couple of other stories too (oops) but I checked how it's spelt in both 'The Lone Drow' and 'Streams of Silver', so at least I won't make that mistake again.**

**And talk about waiting 'til the last minute Guen! Whew! She had me worried there- I was starting to think she wouldn't get there in time…That Elhand/M'tarl guy was beginning to get very frisky…I'm going to have to have a talk with him about that…**

**As well as that poor orc in the lake, you might recall Ad'non and Donnia took Innovindil and Tarathiel down with incapacitating-poison coated darts- after which, Ad'non was making it very clear he had some very nasty things in store for Innovindil, until Drizzt showed up and saved the day. **

**It seems to me that the most plausible explanation for Drizzt making it out of Menzoberranzan with even the smallest scrap of a chance of being an innocent is that Zaknafein kept an eye on him at home (and presumably Dinin and Vierna did while he was at the Academy) and would have defended his honour, as it were. I've been reading 'War of the Spider Queen', and I'm telling you, those drow are horny lil devils. I just don't see any other way it would've worked.**

**Now, stay tuned, 'cos the story isn't quite over yet (but don't worry, Drizzt is quite safe now)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews :D I love reviews, lol.**

**Aponie: My thoughts exactly, dear. I imagine that for someone who has worked so hard all his life to have such remarkable control over his body that the most confronting thing that could happen to him would be to lose that control. **

**Anyhoo, this chapter is mostly just wrapping up a few loose ends, stuff like that. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, don't profit :(**

Dawn came, lightening the velvety darkness in the cave (for the fire had died out completely some hours before) to a cold, grey twilight. Drizzt sniffled softly, stirring against Guen's side. His system was fighting hard against the poison which still coursed through his veins; his limbs still quaked and twitched, and to make matters worse his head ached and his stomach twisted with nausea.

Guen's warm breath tickled the drow ranger's ear as she gave a deep, rumbling sigh. He knew the panther would need to return and gather her strength on her own plane of existence, but Drizzt didn't dare send Guen away just yet. He was in no fit condition to defend himself should a foe happen across the cave, and desperately needed her comforting presence. He'd never undergone an experience like that of the night before, and it had shaken him to his core.

Somehow the goodly drow managed to drag his uncooperative body over to that of his attacker. He was most certainly dead, Guen's fearsome maw having squeezed shut on his slender sable throat. His ruby-hued eyes were still open; his blood-streaked white hair haloed grotesquely about his head; his long, elegant limbs contorted weirdly.

It would have been less unsettling if the corpse had borne some expression of rage; of passion thwarted. But the glazed and misty eyes were blank; the thin and dainty mouth was slack and formless; the delicate and arched brows weren't narrowed in hatred or bitterness. The body was serene, and in that serenity unimaginably disturbing.

Drizzt had Guen bring him the other's cloak, and covered that unpleasant visage over, unable to bare it anymore. He had not the strength to move the corpse from where it lay, yet he did not want to vacate the cave, knowing full well that in his present state he was safer hidden away then exposed on the mountainside, even with Guen to guard him. And it was comforting to be underground (well, almost) in this time of emotional turmoil. Drizzt had been bred in the Underdark, after all, and a roof of stone over his head- well, it was a drow thing.

Sitting there, staring morosely at the covered body, it truly sank in to the rogue noble that he was truly without a House, without _family_. Not just in terms of the individual family members whom he had fled, but without that unit, that social construction without which he should have not been able to survive in the harsh and lightless world of the Underdark.

He had never known of M'tarl. He had never known that he was being watched by a predator even in the supposed safety within the walls of House Do'Urden. He had never known that Zaknafein had known- and had dealt with the problem accordingly. Tears sprang to his eyes and his chest began to ache. He wished fervently for his father back, not just for Zaknafein himself, but for that protector, that guardian figure- for what he had hoped Elhand might have become.

Drizzt found he was all of a sudden in the grips of a cold fury. Crying out in anger he hit out at the cloak-covered body with his fists, pounding on the unmoving chest. He beat at it for a long moment, while sobs began to wrack his slender frame, and silvery tears to pour down his cheeks. He cursed and cried and lashed out- at the unfairness of the world, at the drow of Menzoberranzan, and at the dead elf lying with him in the cave, who, for Drizzt, at that moment, embodied all of it.

It was during that storm of weeping that Bruenor found him.

After Elhand had swept in to Drizzt's rescue the orcs had scattered to the winds, and some had found their way close to Mithril Hall. It just so happened that a small group of the wretched thugs had been passing near the dwarven stronghold about the time the goodly drow's friends had started to worry for him, and been roaming the vicinity searching for signs of his imminent return- much to the misfortune of the orcs.

With some persuasion, the foul brutes had revealed that their band had been hired to waylay Drizzt on the road by a blond-haired, blue-eyed surface elf, who had just walked right up to their fire one night, jingling a very large bag of gold. That same elf had then appeared and attacked them while they in the middle of fulfilling their commission. **(except the orcs didn't use such long and intelligent words in their version)**

Distraught, and desperate to find their friend, the band had set out from Mithril Hall immediately, and split up to search the countryside where the orcs had told them the attack had taken place.

Drizzt was unaware of Bruenor entering the cave. The first he knew of his friend's arrival was being wrapped in the kindly old dwarf's strong arms, and the scratch of his long, red beard against Drizzt's bare skin. The drow continued to shake with the force of his grief, unable to hold back the great gulping, hiccuping sobs rending his composure. Bruenor held him until, finally, the tempest had passed, and Drizzt was quiet, drained and utterly exhausted in his friend's embrace.

He continued to sniffle into Bruenor's beard, feeling the old dwarf rock him gently back and forth, crooning soothing inanities all the while.

When Bruenor had entered the cave he had encountered Guenhwyvar before Drizzt, and had gruffly bade the cat to fetch the others. She returned with them now, a frantic Cattie-brie scrabbling through the cave's entrance to throw her arms tightly about Drizzt's shoulders from behind, and Bruenor gently released the now-quiet elf into her embrace. Regis and Wulfgar followed, both blowing sighs of relief to see their friend apparently uninjured, though as naked as the day he was born.

Wulfgar's warm, heavy cloak was swiftly tucked about the drow's pliant form, the two young humans fussing over their dark elven friend while Bruenor (careful to make sure Drizzt was distracted first) snuck a peek at the covered body and Regis dismissed a weary Guen to her home plane.

Drizzt let Cattie-brie pull him back, pillowing his head against her shoulder. She was weeping softly into his dishevelled snow-white mane, her arms wound snugly about his ribs. "Drizzt?" he heard Bruenor ask softly, from somewhere beyond the grubby curtain of his hair. "What happened here, elf?"

He was aware of Regis' small hand taking his own midnight one, soothingly rubbing his knuckles. Cattie-brie was warm behind him, her arms about him. Bruenor and Wulfgar were nearby, their presence reassuring, and so slowly, haltingly, Drizzt began to recount the trials of the past few days, beginning with the storm and the orc ambush.

He found he couldn't look at Elhand/M'tarl's covered body as he recounted those first few days together. He found he was trembling when he told of the other's amorous advances, and choked up when trying to describe how he'd been shot with the poison-coated darts. If he'd have had any tears left the agitated drow believed he would have begun to cry again, but as it was his body had to settle with a lump in his throat, a pain in his chest, and a sharp increase in his headache.

His friend's formed their own (correct) assumptions when Bruenor held up the hand-crossbow that he had found near the body, and Cattie-brie groaned miserably; a deep, pained sound. "Oh, Drizzt! Me darlin'! What did that monster do to ye?" She began to run her hands anxiously over his body, as if expecting to find Wulfgar's cloak wet with blood.

The others' concern showed in the bright glimmer of their eyes. Drizzt shook his head a little, opening his mouth to say the word 'nothing' but found it wouldn't come. It wasn't technically true either, and a great shiver chased down his spine as his mind turned once more to what might have happened had Guen been but moments later- if she'd obeyed his orders and not come at all.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath he brought himself under control enough to resume his story. It helped to be clinical, and not elaborate much. Cattie sobbed heart-rendingly at several points during the tale, and more than once Regis squeezed his hand tight, a gesture for which Drizzt was most grateful. When the drow's soft voice trailed off wearily both Bruenor and Wulfgar looked very much like they would have liked to do something seriously disrespectful to the older drow's corpse.

oOo

Later Drizzt sat outside with Cattie-brie, dozing uneasily in the last of the warm afternoon sunshine, while the other's buried M'tarl in a shallow grave at the rear of the cave and gathered together the ranger's things. With this unpleasant chore done, they set out on the long trek back to Mithril Hall, the slumbering dark elf cuddled safely in Wulfgar's strong arms.

Drizzt awoke sometime after sunset, to find his friends had set up a camp, with a cheerily crackling fire and hot, sweet tea. The goodly drow gratefully accepted a cup of the steaming liquid, which turned out to have had a dash of something strong added to it by a well-meaning Bruenor.

Away from the cave- and the body- the dark elven ranger was feeling much calmer. He could hold the cup without his hands shaking now, the poison mostly flushed from his system, and surrounded by his attentive friends the young drow had his second epiphany that day. As Cattie-brie came and sat behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist and pressing her pale cheek to his dark one, it occurred to Drizzt that he _did_ in fact have a family- and they were with him now. He smiled, leaning back into the young woman's warmth.

"Are ye ok, me dear one?" Cattie-brie asked him, bringing up one hand to stroke his hair. "Aye," he murmured softly, snuggling close. "Or, I will be, now that you, and Bruenor, and Regis, and Wulfgar are here."

"I'm glad to hear it," the young woman said, a gentle smile breaking out on her pretty face. "Now, let's get ye dressed before ye catch cold."

**A somewhat abupt ending I know, but I kinda liked leaving the story at that particular point. How Cattie-brie goes about getting Drizzt I leave for you to contemplate...**


End file.
